


Hands and Swords

by TheDarkSideofEnergon



Series: Unrelated Prompts [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Drabbles, Little ideas from random words, M/M, Some Fluff, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-13 18:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkSideofEnergon/pseuds/TheDarkSideofEnergon
Summary: Fifteen drabbles, built from a random word generator. No plot, no particular order.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Series: Unrelated Prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1493489
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I enjoyed doing this so much for Knock Out and Breakdown… Ratchet and Drift get the same treatment. Fifteen little drabbles, in no particular order. I’ll post five at a time :)

_ **Speed** _

Drift drifted around the corner, turning his sensors over to the left for just a moment to spot Ratchet standing at the edge of the track, leaning on the barrier, one of those tiny smiles reserved for Drift on his face.

Drift revved his engine a little harder as he sped by, and Ratchet raised a hand in greeting, but didn’t stop him. Drift had just gotten the OK to be out driving after the last fight, burning off his extra energy. Ratchet watching him, though, made him slow down just a tiny bit.

No need to worry him unnecessarily.

* * *

_ **Firm** _

It couldn’t be said that a medic’s chest made for the most comfortable pillow in existence, being a rather unyielding substance. Drift, who had spent a frankly obscene amount of shanix on making his bed the single fluffiest, most comfortable thing in existence, would know.

But Ratchet, sprawled out across every one of those pillows, whirring softly in his much-needed and much-wheedled to recharge, wouldn’t be moved by anyone, least of all Drift. For all Ratchet did for them, had done for them, Drift could give up his pillows for a night and recharge sprawled across _him_ instead.

* * *

_ **Rough** _

Medic hands were meant to be sensitive, meant to feel every ridge and bump in a mech’s internals, meant to be smooth on rusty plates and comforting to whatever they touched. They never developed calluses, never got harsh. They could be used to heal, and still be turned on their bearer in turn.

But his hands were meant to hold swords. He had callouses in all the wrong spots, his fingertips were blunt, his touch rough and grating, a tool of destruction rather than comfort.

And yet neither of them would trade the hands on their beloved for any other.

* * *

_ **Offer** _

Drift, battered, beaten, torn to shreds in places, lay on that operating table every time he closed his optics at night for the first few months. He could hear the beeping of the equipment, even in the streets, even once he joined the Decepticons for food and shelter.

Offlining those thugs was a lot easier than movies made it look (and Drift was meticulous in hunting each one down). But every time he closed his optics, he also wished he’d made the offer of his spark to the medic.

Maybe things would be different now. Maybe Ratchet would be here.

* * *

** _Beat_ **

Neither Drift nor Ratchet had ever been mechs to dance. Even in Ratchet’s “Party Ambulance” days, he’d been more of the wild clubber, and for Drift, dancing wasn’t encouraged either in the Dead End or in the Decepticons, unless it was of the erotic type.

So the two mechs, standing together in the middle of their habsuite, arms wrapped around each other, cubes of high-grade forgotten on the table, gently swaying to the soft music that Jazz had provided for an anniversary evening in, didn’t know quite what they were doing.

And that made it all the more perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only drabble here that pushes the T rating is Velvet, for mostly implied sexytimes.   
Trial might be upsetting if illness and drug trial-related problems bother you.

** _Approval_ **

He argued with him, he teased him, he loved him. The last one, he’d waited far too long to say, but being on opposite sides, shooting at each other, isn’t exactly the best time to announce undying love.

So instead, he got Ratchet new hands.

Thinking about it, his affectionate choices were a little more Dead End and Deadlock than Drift, but he was working on it, Primus help him!

So he fought. He nearly died. He came back. He coveted and allowed Ratchet to go, he looked for peace.

He could only hope that Ratchet approved. He really hoped.

* * *

_ **Trial** _

Ratchet shivered, plating rattling as he bent over double in the washracks, tanks threatening to purge. He held his midsection tightly.

A hand on his back, rubbing into the plating, caused everything to still for a moment, before it continued rattling.

“You don’t have to do this, Ratchet.” Drift whispered, rubbing those soothing circles into Ratchet’s back. “They can find someone else for the trial.”

“Nobody else on the ship needs it.” Ratchet wheezed before purging. Drift held back a sob.

“It’s not worth killing yourself over.”

Ratchet looked up, a rueful smile on his face.

“It is to me.”

* * *

_ **Friend** _

“So you think of me as a friend, then?” Drift poked at tools on Ratchet’s desk.

“Yes.”

“Even with the teasing?”

“Yes.”

“Even with—”

“Even with the stupid self-sacrificing, even with your insistence on auras and Primus and who-knows-what else. Yes.”

“Oh.” Drift poked at the desk again.

“Stop that.” Ratchet swatted at his hand, only for Drift to catch it mid-air.

The two stared at each other. Their sparks twisted in their chassis, their processors finally realizing how close they were. Their vents stilled.

“Do I have to just be a friend?” Drift whispered.

“No.”

* * *

_ **Movie** _

“Really?” Ratchet snorted as Drift squished just a little closer, fitting his plating under Ratchet’s.

“It’s the only way to watch this kind of movie.” Drift insisted, smiling up at Ratchet, who had draped an arm around Drift, pulling him closer despite Ratchet's verbal protests.

“Really?”

“Aren’t we eloquent this evening.” Drift teased as he turned on the Earth movie that Rodimus had loaned him for the night.

“I think that’s your fault.” Ratchet hummed into Drift’s audial. “You _did_ make it rather difficult to remember what words were last night.”

Drift just smirked as the movie started to play.

* * *

_ **Velvet** _

Ratchet ran his hands over the fabric as Drift knelt their bed, a smile on his face as he leaned forwards just a little, swords already set off to the side, well out of accident-range.

“Do you like it?” Drift asked, sitting up just a little higher to whisper into Ratchet’s audial.

“Where did you get it?” Ratchet asked. “Because if you say _Wheeljack_—”

“Perceptor.”

“So it might just fling us into an alternate universe, then.”

“It’s _fabric_, Ratchet.”

“Can’t be too careful.” Ratchet snorted as Drift laughed, leaning in to kiss him, the velvet forgotten for the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

_ **Terms** _

Deadlock paced across the floor, hands behind his back.

Ratchet also had his hands behind his back, his gaze straight ahead, disinterested, even as he prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that Jazz (or _anyone_ else) would get there soon. He was tied to a chair, so, _not_ a good place to be with an angry Decepticon assassin in the room.

At least, Ratchet assumed Deadlock was angry. So when the mech finally spoke and turned to Ratchet, red optics fading to yellow, Ratchet’s helm snapped to him in surprise.

“Here’s how this conversation is going to work.”

* * *

_ **Distant** _

Drift was curled in the big chair that Ratchet usually sat in, the ugly green one with fuzz all over it that Ratchet claimed was better on his joints. He looked over at the perfectly made, completely unused berth, as he loosely held a data-pad, one of those novels Ratchet liked so much from his time on Earth. Drift tried to read another page, but ended up tossing the data-pad onto the table, watching it clatter away.

He’d been alone for ten days now. Ratchet was in the medbay. Probably.

All Drift knew was that Ratchet wasn’t _here_.

* * *

_ **Precision** _

“I need you to hold still.” Ratchet whispered, his face tense as he regarded his options in his current situation. His tool was at the ready, the door locked. Alone.

“I am still.” Drift whispered back. “Want me to be shoosh as well?”

“I would appreciate that, yes.”

A grin spread across Drift’s face, one that Ratchet missed completely from his current placement. Venting out, Ratchet picked up the tweezers, reached forward…

_BZZZT!_

Ratchet tossed the tweezers down. “Pit-forsaken-fragging-dammit!” Ratchet hissed, optical fluid flowing down Drift’s face as he fell backwards, laughing.

“I thought operations were _easy_?”

* * *

_ **Depend** _

Drift leaned on Ratchet, covered in scrapes and dents and energon (most of which wasn’t his). His helm was down on Ratchet’s shoulder, the soft hum of Ratchet’s medical scanners assessing the damage, surrounding him in that little tingle he always associated with Ratchet and his pre-emptive scans every time he saw Drift. It was safe.

Ratchet wrapped his arms around Drift, not caring about the dirt or grime or fluids. “That was a stupid, stupid move.” He whispered, quietly furious.

“Saved them, though.” Drift looked up. “They were depending on me.”

The arms tightened. “_I_ need you too.”

* * *

_ **Stumble** _

Drift’s vents were even, deep, measured. He was focused, his forms smooth. He had heard Ratchet come into their habsuite earlier, but, unusually for him, he hadn’t said anything, snark, sweet, or otherwise.

Then, two movements from the end, Drift’s pede caught on the edge of the rug. He’d passed his pede over it a dozen times in the past twenty minutes, but it seemed that the universe was laughing at him now.

Before he could fall, two strong hands caught his, steadying him. Drift looked to see Ratchet standing just behind him, a smile on his face.

“Caught you.”


End file.
